Thanks for the Memories
by ImDaMnShOrTaNdPrOuD
Summary: "Give me your hand," I demand, holding my hands out for Embry to take. He glares at me with a distrusting gaze. "No way, jerk-face." I roll my eyes and emphasize the fact that my hand was indeed waiting for his. "Pretty please, stupid?" He scowls, putting his hand in mine again. In good humor -honest- I slap them hard. "Why do you keeping falling for it! ?" "You said please!"


**Thanks for the Memories**

**Bethany's point of view**

I would never say it was love at first sight. I wouldn't even go as far as to say I hated his guts at first sight, because, if you think real hard 'bout it, it's basically the same thing and junk. So it totally didn't go that way.

If I bothered to tell the truth, I would say I didn't give a single toothpick about the weird kid with no dad. Little bastard, that's basically all I cared to remember 'bout him. Seriously, what else is there? To put this in basic moron form, it's like the jeopardy on Embry Call would simply combust into an array of confused fireworks from the sheer boringness that's his life. Honestly, I was convinced he didn't even have a favorite color. And who doesn't have one of those; the boring and the suspicious, that's who.

And, if I hadn't stressed it enough, 'cause _honestly_, Embry was too boring to be suspicious.

Now, considering I give a damn about him now, I'll protect some of Embry's little to no dignity with one of those bejeweled bird poop scrapers, and say that only about 3 percent of our school population were truly and thoroughly convinced his real name was Little Bastard. Otherwise I'm sure that the other 97% knew his name started with one of the vowels; 'Y' not included, thank you very little.

'Sides, the whole Little Bastard name is a real taffy stretch now cause he's not really little anymore… so he's kind of like one of those big bastards. 'Cept you don't say that to his face, because title's hardly ever lie about the whole _big _thing. Unless people are trying to be ironic or whatnot and just mean the total opposite. Like that whole deal with the Three Stooges, real classic, really, but irony can get to a person's IQ really fast and knows how to confuse everything. Sometimes even sexuality.

To the _point_; he's big as any bastard will ever get. So it's real stupid to say that to his face now. So everyone is kinda forced to call him Embry… or Call if you really couldn't care less. Whatever tickled the pickle I suppose?

To tell it straight, I don't think people really cared that he was big though… just as long as his dad didn't magically come back and erase the whole bastard part of the label. That just wouldn't be fair and stuff.

But, yeah…like, I really couldn't have given a coffee mug about the dude.

'Till he randomly picked up a penny for me in the hallway one day and went out of his way to give it back. Obviously it was weird as all shit, and I worried that he might not be right in the head and someone I know might see me conversing with him. But if I thought hard about it; maybe it was cute? Like, come _on_, it wasn't even _my _penny. So, after a minute of staring at him like he was a spray painted water bottle filled with fire ants, I accepted the fact that he was just a nice person. And, I found that, on that wonderful Wednesday, that I wouldn't mind calling him Embry from now on either. He deserved it after all; even if I lost the penny that never really was mine in the first place later that day in the parking lot.

No big deal. It was just a penny after all.

"Would you stop spacing out? I'm trying to tell you something." _Yadda_, _yadda_, _yadda_, I mimic his obnoxious mouth movement with my own, rolling my eyes for a good measure.

"'Cuz you were boring; am I not entitled to the stuff I want to enter my ears and stuff?" Embry's girly mouth –very pretty thing- twists into a dark scowl and he crosses his arms, my humor clearly not entertaining enough to meet his standards. He was like a boring seat-mate on an airplane. He made me want to open the window and then suffer through the natural event of being sucked out of the tiny square and go eagle mid-flight something hundreds of miles up in the air.

…

I could just die, to put it shortly.

"How would you know it was boring if you weren't listening?"

"_Obviously_ from your tone of voice, Useless #1."

"That's the 9th stupidest thing that you've ever said."

"That wouldn't make the top 10, fat junk." I'm less than surprised when he makes a weird growling noise at the back of his throat, having gotten used to it after the first 3 times he's done it. And after those 3 times, I've realized it's a sign that he's ready to drop the subject all together and skip right to the name calling.

"You're such a reject."

"What was that, Mr. Tool?"

"Nothing important, Mrs. Trollop."

"That's what I thought, Stump."

"Now, now, Gimp, don't think too much."

"I'll do what I want, Twat."

"Whatever you say, Slick Knit." I eye Embry up with a glare, scrunching my nose up and shaking my head slowly when I realized his smile had grown considerably during our match, not yet hesitating once like he used to. Granted, his insults sucked like an anteater, they were still considerably better than they were in the beginning of our friendship.

"That was real down and dirty, bastard," I scold, grinning to myself when he actually blushes. Undoubtedly, after I corrupted Embry's shy shell, we became the best of buds. I believe it was two days after Embry returned the penny that wasn't mine that I felt the need to initiate a conversation with him. Albeit, it was a rather loud argument over the milk he chose for lunch, but it was a conversation nonetheless. And I'm proud to say that he was probably hooked on my endearing charm from then on.

The sucker just kept coming back for more Beth.

"_Please_, you've said much worse, herpes donor." I can't help but laugh aloud as Embry checks over his shoulder the second the insult escapes his mouth, seeming to just remember that we were in his mother's house. Because what kind of mamma's boy would want their mamma's hearing such a thing? Well…since I can't resist…

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, beady eyes?" Embry huffs indignantly, fingering the corner of his blanket before falling back on his bed. And, because I'm a perv, I take this moment to let my eyes roam over his form that was slowly filling out; _much _in his favor and mine if I must say. Who wouldn't want a smoking hot friend -who's a boy, mind you- walk by your side all day?

"My mother would be appalled with the way you treat me, Leg Spreader," Embry finally pips up, and I'm more or less embarrassed when I realize he's watching me check him out. S'okay of course, knowing Embry like the Starbucks Menu, he's too insecure to even consider me finding him attractive.

Apparently it's absurd for him to be remotely good-looking.

I vaguely wonder if jumping him would change that.

"Undoubtedly," I agree, finding myself too lazy to get off the floor and jump him today. "But not nearly as horrorstricken if she realized her huge little-boy drank an extra soda than he was allowed for the day, Buggar." For the second time in the past 3 minutes I find myself laughing at how alarmed Embry looks whilst he checks his open door worriedly incase his mother has overheard. My sanity must be limping on glue if I was seriously in love with this guy. Scoffing at my amusement he shakes his head and lays flat on the bed, seemingly content with grumpily staring up at his horribly painted ceiling.

"I can't quite figure out why I hang out with you, Flat Chest." How can I be offended when he says it so lovingly? My chibi-self swoons in glee when one of Embry's hands ruffles his long hair.

"I tell it like it is. Believe it when I say that, deep, deep down, in your subconscious mind where you're knotting a barbeque stem with your tongue, that I'm like a father to you. Who else would give you such harsh, but useful critique?" My mind catches up with what my mouth says unusually fast – and I've lived with myself long enough to only be sort of surprised by the stupidity. Embry copes the best way he can without going into post-traumatic shock: he laughs.

"Do you now?" he chokes out between laughter, sitting up with a sort of engaging twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, s'like this, you're a momma's boy, yeah? So, inevitably, unless you find some poor twisted git with some odd momma's boy kink engraved in her –or his- bone marrow, you're going to die a 40 year old-virgin."

"_Die_? You're killing me off at 40?"

"Yes." The one-syllable answer doesn't satisfy him, and he squints at me with brown eyes that graze the very ridges of my soul. That or I might have gas. Embry's mom's cooking can do that to a 114 pound girl. It's no wonder Embry got as big as he did in such a short amount of time.

"And if I'm _not _a virgin by 40, would I survive whatever death you've conjured up, Witch?" The innocence of my grin bounds off the mirror adjacent to me and is reflected straight off of Embry's heartless soul. Was he that incapable of having fun at his own expense?

"What? You've got some weird kinked out senile on your mind?" He looked conflicted for a split second.

"No: just you." I can tell he's holding his breath, like I might do something weird –or weirder. I find that I couldn't, even if I tried. Tilting my head to the side I consider him closely, and the scrutinizing seems to strangely relax him. And, upon seeing him so relaxed and so…Embry, I can only pretend to be interested in the underside of his bed to hide my tomato blush.

My mind, however confused, takes those three words and traps them in a flying piggy bank, effectively cashing them in as Embry wanting me to deflower him.

It was flattering, really.


End file.
